


four is an unlucky number

by driftingstar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen or Pre-Slash, Humor, M/M, Multi, Self-Indulgent, pov switching, why tf is tagging so difficult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftingstar/pseuds/driftingstar
Summary: Post S2, canon-divergent.To save on rent, Takeru and Yusaku move in with Ryoken (and Spectre).  Some of them are happier about it than others.Revolver seems to hesitate, though the moment is over so quickly that Takeru must have imagined it. But when he opens his mouth to talk, not a single word makes any sense. “As I understand it, your lease is about to expire in the upcoming month. I was curious if you have already made alternative housing arrangements.”Huh? Takeru thinks.





	four is an unlucky number

Naturally, the last thing Takeru expected was for the leader of the Knights of Hanoi to casually slide into a chair next to him. It takes him several seconds to connect the slender youth with soft white locks and pale blue eyes to the villain he had once rashly blamed for the death of his parents. Uncharitably, he had been certain that the avatar change from bug-eyed alien to fair-haired pretty boy had been a result of vanity but now Takeru has to concede that he was just born that pretty.

 

“You-! You're Revolver!!” Takeru exclaims, slamming his hands on the table in his haste to get to his feet. His unfinished melon soda clatters to the ground and paints the concrete with a splatter of green but no one pays it (or Revolver’s sudden presence) any mind. He feels like he has been dropped in the Twilight Zone, his frantic gaze sweeps over Yusaku and Kusanagi-san’s placid expressions and realizes that he seems to be the only one freaking out.

 

Yusaku, in fact, carries on as if it was a natural and expected thing to have a former arch nemesis and cyberterrorist pay surprise visits to what constituted as one's secret base. “Did something happen?” is what he asks, instead of “how did you find us?” or “what nefarious new plot are you scheming?” To be fair, Revolver hadn't exactly done anything too evil lately, spending his time helping protect humanity from extinction and all that, but who wouldn't be suspicious of a guy who tried to do almost that same thing but in a different flavor like a season ago?

 

“Nothing of that sort,” Revolver carries on as if Takeru hadn't shouted his secret identity across the ocean. He does, however, steeple his fingers together and appear to be deep in thought and Takeru has no idea why no one else is taking issue with this!!

 

Then again, Yusaku’s lack of surprise is telling.

 

“There is something I wanted to propose. Perhaps you would like to sit down for this.”

 

Takeru belatedly realizes that the last point was addressed to him which only makes him more irritated in turn. His gut reaction is to grab him by one of his fancy lapels and shake the answers out of him… until he remembers that Revolver was about to do exactly that and there really isn't a reason why Takeru needs to remain standing for this.

 

“Fine.”

 

So he takes a breath instead and moves spots so he is sitting next to Yusaku instead and across from Revolver, all the while deeply missing Flame’s presence. Surely his own partner would have been a voice of reason in this scenario. Throughout the whole silently awkward exchange, neither Revolver nor Yusaku had said a single word. Kusanagi-san seems to be unhelpfully keeping busy behind the counter like an NPC.

 

“So,” Yusaku prompts, “what did you want to discuss?”

 

Revolver seems to hesitate, though the moment is over so quickly that Takeru must have imagined it. But when he opens his mouth to talk, not a single word makes any sense. “As I understand it, your lease is about to expire in the upcoming month. I was curious if you have already made alternative housing arrangements.”

 

Huh? Takeru thinks.

 

“Nothing in particular yet,” Yusaku says.

 

HUH? Takeru thinks, but louder.

 

“In that case, I do own a fairly large piece of property that is not fully occupied. Perhaps you may consider making use of the space. If it suits your purposes.”

 

There is a beat of silence where Takeru's gears churn furiously, a lead weight sinking into his gut when he sees that the expression on Yusaku's face seems to be vaguely thoughtful.

 

“What are you playing at!?” he blurts out, hands once again meeting the table but this time with enough force that little cracks spiderweb from his fingers. (Sorry Kusanagi-san.)  “If you think for one second that Yusaku is going anywhere alone with you, you can think again--!”

 

His tirade catches in his throat when Revolver suddenly turns to address him with, “Of course, I want to extend the invitation to you as well. I understand that lodgings have become unfavorable towards renters in the current real estate market.”

 

Takeru is momentarily struck speechless, partly because he is thrown off that Revolver’s latest scheme is so _weird_ and partly because, yes, he was indeed concerned that his rent was starting to become unaffordable since he had rushed out here in a hurry but-- “That's not the point! This- this is so obviously a trap that I'm embarrassed FOR you and this premise is so bad that it's practically another isekai harem novel!!”

 

“A what,” both Revolver and Yusaku echo with politely curious gazes that look distressingly similar and Takeru immediately changes the subject because today is not the day that he will accidentally out himself as an isekai fan.

 

“In any case! Yusaku isn't going anywhere without me!” he finishes, his chest swelling with righteous, protective anger because Revolver would have to climb over his cold dead body if he thinks he is going to get the better of Playmaker using underhanded methods --

 

“Yes,” Yusaku agrees and Takeru feels a swell of validation at that, right up until he continues on, “I suppose it would be more convenient that way if you do not mind the intrusion.”

 

“Yu, saku, wait, are you-- are you _serious--!_?”

 

“Then it is settled then,” Revolver says, suddenly fixing Takeru with a look-- his expression unnervingly… soft and regretful in a way that he should have no business looking. “That is if it is alright with you as well.”

 

“I--” Takeru flounders like he had tried to take a step in Link VRAINS only for some asshole to delete the ground beneath his foot. “Um.”

 

“You did say you weren't going anywhere without Playmaker, after all.” This time, Takeru is certain that he didn’t imagine the brief smirk flitting across Revolver’s face and his eyes burn with rage once again because he KNEW IT, he KNEW Revolver was a smug, evil bastard and he shouldn’t have believed for a SECOND that he was up to anything good!

 

Anyway, that’s how Takeru ended up moving into a seaside mansion with his hero and his hero’s former arch-nemesis.

 

Oh, and Spectre was there too.

  


* * *

  
  


A few days later finds Takeru standing motionlessly on the edge of a cliff as he gazes up at a sprawling seaside mansion and gets a strange, powerful set of déjà vu that he just can't shake. The waves crash noisily against the cliffs beneath him in an unnecessary reminder of just how high up he is. He gnashes his teeth. Figures that Revolver would have an abode as lofty and arrogant as he is! This is just rubbing bourgeois salt into the wounds of the proletariat!!

 

“A ‘fairly large piece of property’ _my ass_!” He had pictured finding a posh apartment or an actual house, not finding out that Revolver is cyberterrorist!Iron Man. While Takeru loses himself in his contemplation of how capitalism breeds greed and rampant social inequality, the front door swings open.

 

“Ah, I had wondered which particular piece of rabble was darkening the doorstep of Ryoken-sama’s residence.”

 

Takeru freezes, mid-rant, eyes narrowing in distaste at the guy in the doorway. A posh looking guy in a suit and a polite, stepford smile that like the one Hannibal Lector wore while watching his houseguests eat people. He briefly wonders how Spectre can buy groceries without getting arrested, considering he makes no effort to pretend he isn't a wanted cybercriminal.

 

“What,” he asks flatly, feeling mildly irked at the chilly reception considering that _Revolver and Playmaker had strong-armed him into living here_.

 

“Of course, I meant no offense,” Spectre demures but Takeru is still offended anyway. “Of course, you are Ryoken-sama’s honored guest and it would be terribly remiss of me not to show you the respect that you should be afforded.”

 

Which is not very much, his visible distaste seems to say.

 

Takeru is understandably agitated and it takes a lot of willpower not to roll up his sleeves and repeatedly beat Spectre’s face in on Revolver’s front porch. Not that he wouldn't deserve it, but Flame would have been disappointed in him. Probably. Instead, he adjusts his fake glasses and counts to ten. And then he starts over and makes it all the way to twenty before he is sufficiently calm.

 

“Look,” Takeru grits out. “I don't like this any better than you do. But I'm fucking paying _rent_ so just let me in already before I punch you in the teeth.”

 

Rather than take offense, Spectre looks inordinately pleased at the ineffectual threat. Then again, this is the guy who publicly announced that he had nutted to Playmaker vs Revolver at least once. “I expected nothing less of a personage of your particular _calibre_ ,” he says, putting emphasis on the last word in the same way one might say ‘filthy peasant’. He carries on, gesturing dismissively at Takeru's bag. “In any case, Ryoken-sama has instructed that I show you to your room. Kindly hand over your… belongings and stop wasting my time.”

 

Takeru's luggage consists of a single knapsack that he had hastily packed during his impulsive decision to hop on a train to Den City, but it is still heavy enough to make Spectre stumble when he shoves it roughly at his face.

  


* * *

  


Takeru's terrible, bad, no-good mood persists, following him through what felt like an eternity of needlessly long hallways and stairs, right up until the shock of seeing his new bedroom completely knocks him out of his sulk.

 

“What the fuck,” he whispers.

 

Spectre sniffs in a very offended and supercilious kind of way. “If you're quite done with your theatrics, I will be making my way back to Ryoken-sama.”

 

Takeru ignores him completely in favour of taking another cautious step into the room as if he was expecting it to explode. (It doesn't.) But he still remains motionless as he stands there, trying to take it all in. He had caught glimpses of the rest of the mansion; the decor was sleek and modern, done in neutral shades and looking like it belonged in a magazine expounding minimalistic design. In comparison, this room is… loud.

 

“I trust that your new lodgings are to your standard?” A voice suddenly rings out from behind him.

 

Takeru spins around with a startled scream, just in time to see Revolver taking a step back with an expression that looks like he would have liked to let out a startled scream of his own. His expression is so incongruent from how he normally looks that Takeru almost forgets that he's supposed to be antagonistic to him. “Oh. It's, you,” he says, still clutching a fist over his heart where it had nearly jumped out. “What are you doing here?”

 

Revolver exhales and visibly straightens until his posture is once more impeccable. “I came to ensure that you were settling in. Spectre informed me that you did not have much in the way of luggage.”

 

Takeru looks down at his tiny backpack and then back over at the expansive bedroom with a four-poster canopy bed and a walk-in closet, wondering for a moment if Revolver is poor-shaming him. "It's… fine," he says lamely. For an intensely awkward moment, the two merely look at each other without speaking until Revolver finally clears his throat.

 

"Good," he says, and then spins swiftly on his heel and goes back the way he came.

 

“... Hey, uh, so is there any particular reason why this room seems to be painted in Soulburner colors?" Takeru blurts out.

 

And indeed it is: from the green glittering gem lights to the expanse of red and orange flames licking at the bottom of the walls, the entire room seems to be decorated to thematic perfection. To complete the look, there also appears to be a VR device that's shaped like a _racecar_.

 

Revolver abruptly stops walking and what little Takeru can see of his ears look kind of pink under the lighting. “Not at all,” he replies somewhat stiffly. "If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave. Dinner is at six."

 

Takeru watches him go in silence and wonders if all of this is karmic retribution for being a high school delinquent.


End file.
